


Self-Fulfilled Prophecy

by Adeadlymusician



Series: The Future is Yours to Decide [2]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Redemption, Reference suicide attempt, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeadlymusician/pseuds/Adeadlymusician
Summary: Logos contemplates his purpose and his role in the world now that he has a second chance at life.
Series: The Future is Yours to Decide [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962799
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Self-Fulfilled Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 2 of this series! There's a lot I had to cut out of the main story to make it flow better. So, I'll periodically post one-shots here and there to explore areas of the story that are vague or scenes that I wanted to include but couldn't. 
> 
> This takes place sometime before the events of Chapter 1 and Chapter 4 (for Logos).
> 
> I am not exactly sure how coherent this will be to y'all. It makes sense to me buuuuttt I'm also wierd. The friend that I normally let read over it to see if it's readable is just getting into Xenoblade 2 and doesn't want to be spoiled on things soooooooo. And this is also my first time writing in the present tense in a very long time haha. Sorry if there are any errors!

He chuckles, watching with amusement as the people of Auresco live out their daily lives. The buildings stand strong and regal as blades and humans alike trapeze around without a care in the world. The streets are packed as per usual, the end of a long work week coming to a close. A picturesque vision for a picturesque country. There was a reason it was called Torna: The Golden Country. It went down in history as the ideal. Ideal in both past and future as the epitome of what life should be like. He envies their carefree nature, in all honesty. He wishes that he could enjoy the sights like they could. Wishes he could see what people liked about city life (not that this was what most would consider a city, in the time he was most recently in. But for the people of Torna, this was the largest gathering of people outside of Alba Canavich).

He closes his eyes, leaning against the tree. This is his favorite spot. It overlooks all of the habitable land on the titan and is only accessible by those who could fly (or teleport). As far he is aware, he is the only one who knows about it. He likes it that way, though. It is a perfect place for him to calm down and collect his thoughts away from the expectations of the world. Especially now of all times. He remembers everything like it was yesterday. The blackened skies over Torna and the dark, cold atmosphere of the Aion Hanger. Jin in Mor Ardain and Jin at the World Tree. The cramped interior of the Marsanes and the wild open expanse of Temperantia. The burning hatred that ate him alive. The unbridled anger that determined his every action. The wallowing sadness as he realized that he would only ever be able to blow shit up. To destroy things. He had not lied to Rex at the top of the World Tree; that’s all he has ever done. Destroy, blow shit up. Make everyone’s life as miserable as possible. 

He feels nothing now. No. That’s not quite right. He feels… something. But it’s stagnant and unmoving. A pervasive emptiness. Like a puppet without its strings and a knife without its blade. 

Which, he supposes, would make him purposeless. A puppet is nothing without its string and a knife nothing without its blade. 

But he can’t help but wonder… is that all he ever has to be known for? Is he capable of change? Can he be more than the puppet that sank three titans? Than the weapon that severed so many heads that there was no space to bury the bodies? Rex certainly seemed to think so. The kid tended to believe in everyone, though. 

And he isn’t so sure. He doesn’t know if he is capable of that sort of change. It would involve so much suffering and vulnerability on his part. He would be taking everything that he had dished out. He would have to face the consequences of his actions firsthand. And he isn’t sure if he’s up to that, mentally. He had almost killed himself after he woke up and realized where he was. But something stopped him every time he aimed his sword towards his own core. A nagging feeling that always stopped the blade mere inches from the fragile crystal. A new, more positive feeling that slowly rose to the surface, freezing him in place and preventing them from completing the task. He had eventually given up on trying to off himself, retreating to Torna, to his safe space. But the feeling never left. It follows him everywhere he goes. Like the universe isn’t quite done with him yet.

Like there is still yet a role for him to play.

_“Ophion!” The large, snake-like artifice tore out of the Cloud Sea, cutting through the ocean of his Gargoyles. Mythra stared at him, eyes steely and determined. “You know, preparation is everything, Malos!”_

He groans, grasping at his face. He bats away the other memories that try to surface but he is unable to stop one word from ringing out loudly, taunting him. Malos, Malos, Malos... _Mal._ He _hates_ that name. Improper; Unpleasant; Faulty; Inadequate; the root word for “bad” in so many of the languages humanity used to speak. He laughs bitterly. What a self-fulfilled prophecy his name had turned out being. He never wanted to be defined by that name in the first place and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be defined by that name now. By Malos. By being “bad.” By being corrupted and evil and cruel. He knows he doesn’t deserve to rename himself. He knows that his sins have branded him for hell. That he will never be able to escape them. 

But he doesn't want to be that anymore. He wants to be different. Somehow. Someway. He wants to be known by something other than the enemy of good. Than the scary monster that terrorizes villages in the dead of night. To be something more than Amalthus’ puppet and right hand weapon. But what does that leave him with? What can he go by now? Being Malos the puppet is all he has ever known. And he is downright _terrible_ at naming things. Jin had banned him from naming things after he called their pet plant “Green.” And he does not want to go by something generic like “Steve” or “Nathan” or “Benjamin.” Disgraced as though he may be, he likes to think that he has some semblance of dignity remaining. 

…. There was Logos, wasn’t there? The name that the Architect had given him. Well, before he was the Architect. The language it came from is lost to him but it sounds… regal. Official. Powerful. 

Whatever it meant, it will be a hell of a lot better than Malos. It would be infinitely better than his previous name. Nodding, he resolves himself to internalize the change. He feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. The positive feeling doesn’t last long, however, as anxiety settles at the bottom of his gut. 

Twiddling his thumbs, he gazes into the sky. He feels... conflicted. Uncertain. Now that he is free of his previous name, of his previous role, he doesn’t exactly know what it is that he wants. Now that he can be more than an inanimate object… what can he be? What can he do? Redemption sounds nice but he knows, deep down, that there is no redeeming what he did. He also likes the idea of helping people; again, he’s not sure how successful he would be in that regard. 

He shakes his head, admonishing himself. There is no point in trying to micromanage the future. In any case, his path will not be easy and the less sure of himself that he is, the easier it will be for other people to rip him to shreds. And, quite frankly, he had had enough of that in his past life. He nods to himself, a tight feeling building at the back of his throat. He is going to try and be a new person. A person free of the clutches of his previous driver. A life free of being a puppet of a puppet master that wielded him like an unruly weapon. What that ended up being in the end is a bridge he would burn later.

He clenches his fists. What a lonely journey it will be. He will miss all of Akhos’ quips about screenwriting, Patroka’s explosive rage as she misses a target. Jin’s almost smile as Mikhail continues to tinker with salvaged materials that they had found. He is the sole survivor of whatever happened at the World Tree. While Pneuma could still live, he knows to not count on that. To not count on anything but himself. 

He stands up, clearing his mind. His first order of business is to investigate the World Tree. If there was any information on what had happened, it would be there. After that... Well, he will carry the weight of his own actions to his grave. He cannot erase the past. At least, not in the way most people think. He can, however, prevent himself from destroying the world. He can help Addam and Lora and Hugo on their journey from afar. He can try, at least. That would be a good first step, right? 

And he can make sure Amalthus is sent to hell with no way of escaping its depths. 

With a flash of purple ether, Logos teleports to the top of the World Tree, marking the beginning of a wild, winding, and solemn path. Where that path would lead was something only he could determine.


End file.
